Highway Part 18

Highway Chapter 13(continued)

She got up after a few minutes, and we continued walking. We entered the small town of Smithington.

While Veronica went into a nearby convenience store, I attempted to get a local to help me either find a new map, or update mine. As usual, the guy had taken up an attitude with me, but I didn’t let myself get frustrated. Forcing on the charm, polite and nonthreatening. I knew that they felt as if they were missing something when I was around them, but I was used to it. Unlike Veronica, I had been subjected to this in many cities and understood what was going on. I had learned the social way to react to these people’s frustrating behavior.

Finally getting help from the man, I thanked him, and proceeded to head out of the town.  Veronica called me, and I flipped around so that I faced her while walking backwards.

“Sup?” I said.

She asked me how I could maintain my composure when talking to others who spoke down to me. I explained that I had been rude to them at first, but then later realized it didn’t get me anywhere in the end. Explaining the stance and voice to her, she attempted to try it herself. We worked on it, and I tried to encourage the voice she used when she was just generally happy about things. Soon she was speaking in perfect tone, a stance open and friendly.

We walked on, making good time. If we walked like this the whole time, we could make it to camp just before nightfall. Suddenly, from behind, came Veronica’s voice.

She complained that we had been walking for too long, snapping out a question of a break. I looked at the sun, judging the time. We didn’t really have time for the kind of break she was talking about. What could I do to improve her experiences? She needed to do something fun to gain some energy and to bring her out of her bad mood. Thinking of her wonder when we entered the town, it made me believe her childhood was the happiest time in her life, despite its drawbacks. A song from when I was a child came into my head, and I started singing.

Swaying back and forth in a silly jig, I bent down simultaneously to get as close to Veronica as possible. She looked at me as if I had gone mad, thinking I had snapped. I gestured for her to join me in my frivolous dance and song. She told me there was no way in hell. I got closer as she tried to move away, until she sighed, exasperated. After understanding I wasn’t going to leave her alone, she agreed.

I sang the first line for her. Purposely looking as if I was making her commit murder, she sang the next one. Soon, as I had anticipated, she sang with more gusto and energy. She was smiling now, and we had already danced across the street a ways. She seemed surprised we had moved with so little effort, and voiced her thoughts. When asked how I knew how to do such a thing, I told her a magician never tells his secrets, attempting to sound mysterious. She rolled her eyes, but was still smiling.

We sang the whole rest of the way, reciting the most ridiculous songs we could think of. Veronica wasn’t a very good dancer, but neither was I. We got to where we were going to camp, and I got the materials to make a fire while Veronica and I exchanged puns.

She suddenly asked me if I could teach her to make a fire. I agreed, happy she wanted to learn to do things like this. It was good to teach her, as she loved to learn.

I demonstrated how to strike them together to make sparks. She took the flint and steel from me, and tried to light them several times. She was going too fast, and at too sharp an angle, so the sparks weren’t well placed and they went out too quickly. I told her to go slower. She tried again, but didn’t understand what I meant. She exclaimed in frustration that she was going slow, and threw the tools down, turning away from the fire. I sighed.

She seemed to have this habit of giving up on something if it didn’t work right away for her. I needed her to see that the best things in life take some effort. It isn’t always easy.

“Veronica,” I called.

She turned to me, an irate expression on her face.

“What?” she asked, annoyed.

“Come back. Let’s try it one more time.”

She looked at me in defiance, and I knew I would need to make her do this.

“Come here.” I said, with more authority.

She seemed to listen to what I said if I used that tone, as a child might to their parents. She looked aggravated, but came back anyway. I shushed her as she started to protest, telling her I would help her. I came up behind her, looping my arms around hers to be able to reach her hands. If she felt how to do it, I knew that she could.

As I leaned in, I noticed that she smelled like strawberries. I wondered why, for she hadn’t eaten any as far as I had seen, and she hadn’t packed any scents.

After I showed her how to create sparks that stayed, she gave me a doubtful look as I told her to do it again. I encouraged her, for I knew she could do it and just needed some inspiration. She struck the flint with perfect technique, and smoke rose from the small pile of tinder. Telling her to blow softly, she picked it up like a baby and kindled the burning embers. The fire spread to the wood, and she rejoiced. I cheered her on, giving her a high five. She was proud of herself, and I was proud she had kept going, even if she needed a little help.

We settled in for the night, watching the stars and getting comfortable. Veronica reached into her backpack and took out Ozzie, the octopus I had given her, quickly stuffing him in her sleeping bag. I smiled to myself, delighted she liked her present enough that she slept with it. But I knew that any outward sign would cause a fight, and she would be too embarrassed to sleep with Ozzie again. She appeared to think I hadn’t seen, for she snuggled into her sleeping bag like usual.

She fell asleep, and I pondered her odd actions last night. She seemed troubled by something, and it was giving her sleep problems. The night before, she had sprung up from her sleeping bag, drawing in ragged breaths. I woke up, but was still half asleep. By the time I turned around to ask if she was alright, she had gone back to sleep. I thought to myself that I would stay up tonight, and see if she had any troubles. I was used to not sleeping when necessary, so one night of vigilance wouldn’t kill me.

Stepping around her as stealthily as possible, I relocated to the top of the hill right across from us. It was a small, grassy knoll, and I made sure she could see me if she were to wake up. She would talk to me if she wanted, and I always found lying on a hill, looking up at the stars the most soothing environment.

I waited for trouble, listening to the crickets chirp at each other, mingling with the cicadas down by the stream below. The world was vibrant with life, and I could feel the connection I had with every creature. I could feel Veronica too, although not as much.

Humans in general were harder to feel, for they were so complex in their emotions and souls.

Drifters could be felt from miles away, for they were like vibrant auras in the sea of life. I had noticed that I could sense Veronica from about  20 feet now, instead of 10 like before. She was beginning to connect to nature more, now that we had been on the road. She was coming closer to finding the truth. I knew I would be happy for her when she awakened, but I would be sad that she was going to drift away.

I had never met someone like her before, not exactly. Sure, I had met plenty of angry people who had painful pasts, more than I could count. I would say that most of the people who became drifters were like this. But I had met far fewer people who had up so many barriers, and who seemed like they had so much pain. And still, even fewer who were secretly people who liked stuffed animals and were overcome with joy when completing such a small task as lighting a fire. She was fierce, but she was also gentle when need be. She sang on the streets with me, stole my bed and television, and cuddled stuffed octopi at night. Veronica was truly a special person, and I was grateful to have had the chance to know her.

I sat on that hill for hours, watching the night creatures come to life.

Around what I guessed to be about 2 am, Veronica began to stir.  She was twisting and turning in her sleeping bag, mumbling something incoherently. I managed to catch a few phrases, many of which consisted of the words “don’t” and “please.” She was sweating profusely, the moonlight glistening off of the drops on her forehead. Her hair was plastered to her forehead, and her shirt was sticking to her skin. Her face was twisted into an expression of fear, something I had never truly seen. She kept mumbling, her tone getting more and more desperate.

Wondering if I should wake her up, I paused hesitantly. I had never comforted someone with nightmares before, and these were unordinary. These nightmares weren’t about zombies, or monsters, or something like being bullied or being left alone. Her face showed that she was genuinely scared. What was she dreaming? Her presence was too faint to read entirely, but I could feel the distress coming from her. Just as I was about to stand to wake her, she lurched out of her sleeping bag.

She whimpered so quietly I almost couldn’t hear. She paused a moment, breathing raggedly.

. I kept my eyes ahead, to give the allusion I hadn’t seen her wake up. Through the peripheral, however, I could see her look at my empty sleeping bag with confusion. With a voice mixed with vulnerability and concern, she called out shakily.

“Matt?” she asked.

I called to her from near the top of the hill, a few feet away.

“I’m up here. I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to do some stargazing. Don’t worry, I’ll go back to bed soon.”

I worded this so that she would know she hadn’t awoken me, and that I couldn’t sleep. I also put in the last sentence for I also wanted to leave her alone if she wanted the privacy, and to give her the sense she didn’t have to feel compelled to speak to me. If she was going to tell me what was going on, she would have to do it on her own terms and be completely in control.

She sat in her bag for several minutes, and I thought she might have fallen asleep again. Then I heard the shuffling of material, and the crunching of grass. She padded up the knoll, stopping to rest beside me.

She lay next to me, staring up at the stars. I could see her shivering, although it wasn’t because of the night breeze. She didn’t look at me, and I didn’t look at her, trying to figure out what she wanted from the situation. Deciding to stay silent, I waited.

Her breaths began to even out, her body began to still, and her clothes began to dry. Her skin wasn’t sweaty anymore, the cool breeze drying it up. We sat like this for about 10 minutes, and then she turned to me.